Be The One
by DreamingOfHalcyons
Summary: Sometimes, she wants to wrap him up in a blanket and let him fall asleep next to her, and make sure he stays asleep. She wants to cook him food and sit with him while he eats every last bit of it. She wants to look after him the rest of her life, wants to look after him a bit more than she looks after herself. (A Stydia one-shot in which Stiles doesn't get enough sleep)


**I never do one-shots but I sure as hell miss writing them, enjoy :)**

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It's 23:36 when she hears Stiles come through the front door and head straight into the kitchen. She sits up in bed, her book on Quantum Physics lay abandoned on their bed, crinkling the sheets.

The opening and closing of the fridge door is what keeps Lydia awake. She hears him get a glass out of the cupboard and a few seconds later hears the fridge again.

He pads down the hallway, and Lydia looks at the door, expectantly.

"You're awake," He says when he pushes through the door.

He's still in his uniform, a white shirt tucked into black pants. His tie loosened around his neck, and Lydia can imagine the way he's been pulling at it all day when he works on his case.

"I thought you'd be asleep by now."

"I thought you'd be home by six." Lydia sighs and moves the book off the bed.

He places a glass of juice by the bed. "I text you."

"You text me saying you'd be home by nine," Lydia runs her hand through his hair when he collapses onto the bed. "Not almost midnight."

He looks tired, his eyes sunken and heavy with dark shadows casting underneath them. The brown of his eyes are definitely not as bright as they once were and she thinks his skin is more paler than usual.

"I got caught up."

"Stiles," Lydia sighs, her hands scratching at his scalp. "It's just a case, it isn't the end of the world."

She thinks he might cry because his back is oddly tensed. His head, buried in the sheets, is not even looking up at her.

"Hey, look at me." She softly whispers, her hands coming down to rub his back.

He lifts his head up, his eyes are noticeably blood-shot and Lydia can feel her chest ache at the sight of him. He's been working too hard, over-thinking more than usual, and it's effecting his well-being. Physically and mentally.

Sometimes, she wants to wrap him up in a blanket and let him fall asleep next to her, and make sure he stays asleep. She wants to cook him food and sit with him while he eats every last bit of it. She wants to look after him the rest of her life, wants to look after him a bit more than she looks after herself.

"Have you eaten?" She asks, he sits up and starts unbuttoning his shirt after taking his tie off.

"I had a donut at the station." He mutters as he pulls his pants off, and crawls under the covers in only his boxers.

"That's not food," She sighs but Stiles still finds it in him to look at her and quirk an eyebrow because donuts are food. "Your dinner was in the fridge."

"Babe, I'm not hungry. I just want to sleep." He reaches up to her lips and kisses her.

She takes his word for it, that he must be tired, because he hasn't even brushed his teeth. So she tucks him in and watches him until she thinks he's fallen asleep.

Her hand seeks out to the side of the bed where Stiles usually is, to find it empty and cold.

She rubs her eyes and lifts her head, finds the door open a crack letting light in and falls back onto her pillow. She lets out a defeated sigh. Turning over in their bed, she looks at the glowing red lights on her clock and sees them flash the numbers 08:15.

It's Saturday, Lydia wanted one morning where she could wake up to Stiles. Or one morning when she would be awake before Stiles. She'd be happy with either one.

The early morning sun is streaming in through the curtains, causing rays of light to scatter across the oak floor. She's warm without Stiles' next to her, but she would've liked to hear his breathing next to her.

Stretching lazily, she spreads out on the bed like a starfish, breathing in deeply and feeling her muscles loosen.

She gets out of bed, fishes one of Stiles' old flannels out of his drawer and buttons it half way up, covering most of her bare chest. She walk down the hall, her bare feet cooling against the wooden floor. She rounds a corner to their kitchen and finds Stiles stood at the stove making breakfast. Lydia's mouth watered at the smell.

His bare back is broad, broader than Lydia remembers, but clearly defined by muscle and shoulder and back dimples.

She gradually walks up to him, stands on her tip-toes and hooks an arm around him, her hand flat on his chest. She can feel his pulse when she presses her chest to his back, and she loves it, makes him feel so much more real. Which she needs, especially after almost losing him time and time again.

She needs him, more than she likes to admit, but he's what makes her wake up on the bad days. She gets the days where her heart aches because of the way Allison slipped through her fingers too fast. She gets the days where she wants to hurt herself because of the way she forgot Stiles when it came to the Ghost Riders. But Stiles always helps her through it.

Lydia kind of hopes that Stiles needs her too. She likes being there for him, it seems to make up for all the times she wasn't.

"Why are you up so early?" Lydia asks in his ear, pressing a kiss below it.

She breathes him in, he smells fresh and soapy, like maybe he was up ages before and had a shower too.

"I thought I'd treat you," Stiles shrugs, shoveling up a fried egg onto a plate then turning to face her. "To the best breakfast you'll ever have."

"Best?" Lydia chuckles as his hands slide about her waist. "Don't flatter yourself."

He pinches her side playfully. "My cooking's the best you've had, admit it."

"I don't have a lot to compare it to." Lydia smiles and picks up the plate with eggs, bacon and sausages on them. "Let's eat it in bed."

He follows her like a puppy, holding loosely on her fingers. She guides him back to their bed that's still partly warm from when Lydia was in it.

"How did you sleep?" Lydia asks, propping up pillows for him so that he'll be comfy.

He settles down, sipping a mug of coffee that he must've carried in without her noticing. "Better."

Lydia raises her eyebrows and takes the mug from him, the last thing he needs is caffeine otherwise he isn't going back to bed. "How many hours?"

"Seven."

"Seven as in you were asleep from midnight to seven in the morning or seven as in you slept until three and spent the last few hours tossing and turning?"

He rubs his forehead. "It was probably less than that."

"Stiles," Lydia almost begs. "You can't beat yourself up this way."

She brushes his hair off his forehead, her nails grazing his skin. She notices him sink down further into the bed. "It's just work."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but you joined the FBI because you love solving mysteries, right?" He nods. "So isn't this part of the fun?"

"Lyds, we've been trying to track down this man for weeks." He looks like he's about to cry and she can hear how tight his voice is.

"And you're a few more weeks closer to finding him." She offers him a small smile and as she's tracing her fingertips along his skin he catches her wrist and kisses her pulse. "I'll help you figure it out later, once you've slept."

"I love you," He whispers, his voice suddenly dry. "I'm not sure what I'd do without you."

Her heart warms and her insides go to jelly. She smiles at him, maybe he needs her as much as she needs him after all.

"I love you too," She kisses his forehead. "But you have to start taking care of yourself."

"I know."

"Promise me."

"I promise." He smiles, his eyes are heavy and glassy.

Exhaustion was finally getting the better of him, it seemed. Lydia was more than happy to watch him sleep for hours. And she did.


End file.
